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  • When Germa first walked into the room, what had first greeted her was a woman, whose head hangs loosely, eyes cast down, and shoulders sagged down in a crestfallen figure. A messy braid nestled, and were stacked together within as if in an urgent manner towards the hood she’s clad on right exactly that moment. It still remain dishevelled, leading for a disarray appearance. Her legs were covered by a faded blue jeans— a ripped jeans rather to be exact, where holes punched right through exposing her pale complexion. She couldn’t guess how old is she.
  • However, Germa—although it is her first time running across Laura, she couldn’t explain, but she’s having an odd feeling about that woman. The latter were oozing passively—that kind of ambiance, whereas one couldn’t point out, but briefly explain a shudder you'll run across although the AC is on. There would a beads of sweats leading for shamble thoughts, and just when you think it was safe, then something would just grab and drag you, never to be seen. That’s what it felt like.
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